


Male Reader X Female Doctor Trager

by CampGreen



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Horror, Literature, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 00:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampGreen/pseuds/CampGreen
Summary: I cooked this one up real fast and out of the blue, which is why it's shorter than usual. I indirectly got the inspiration from oyveythisagain. Dr. Rick Trager is from Red Barrels' Outlast.





	1. Angel of Death

Your eyes shoot open. You're eagle spread out on a cold, stainless steel worktable, in a cramp operating room lit only by a dying surgical lighthead dangling over you from above. Your clothes are no where to be seen, replaced by nothing more than a pale green medical gown. You're bound to the table by three leather straps tied over your wrists and neck, and there's a cart laden with all sorts of supplies parked at your side. Where the hell are you? You try to call back to what happened. You were driving through the countryside, on a remote, windy night. You were...going to visit a loved one in the hospital...a mental hospital...an asylum...Mount Massive Asylum! You were headed for the visitor center when a tree collapsed in the road and sent you swerving into a ditch. The crash must've knocked you out before you were retrieved by the staff and rushed to the ER. To be blunt, this is a real shitty looking hospital. You've had closets more welcoming and with more elbow room than this patient dorm. You feel pity for your loved one. 

Your heart skips a beat when all of a sudden the knob twists and its door creaks open. Down the four steps descends a pair of bare feet. It's a curved physique, hard to see thanks to the bad lighting, naked aside from an unbuttoned, short labcoat. A badly-done tan scorches the much of her skin you can see, though her face is well-hidden behind a pair of glasses and a ragged, unwashed procedure mask. The hot white glare on her bifocals shine through the darkness, though you can still see her warm brown eyes since the lenses are messily cracked and jagged, as if she scavenged them up off the floor after they were trampled. Not to be judgmental, but her build is a bit too slender for her own good, and despite your glimpses of her implying she's in her early to mid 30's, every strand of hair that reaches down to the pit of her back is solid silver. She certainly doesn't look like a doctor. More like a patient mockingly cosplaying as one. She looms over your bedside, ominous silhouette accentuated by the lighthead from above. 

_"Ah, sleepyhead's up and at 'em already!"_ she exclaims in a smarmy, preppy tone that sounds like a highschool-aged alpha bitch, which makes the grey hair all the more jarring. _"Nose to the grindstone, I like that!"_

 _"Who are you?"_ your hoarse voice croaks.

 _"Well, professionally, I'm Doctor Trager, but you can call me Rach,"_ she casually explains as she fishes a pair of sky blue nitrile gloves out from a box dispenser and snaps them on. _"I'm not one for all that white-collar mumbo jumbo."_

_"Why am I tied to an operating table?"_

_"Why are you tied to an operating table, huh? Well, y'see, buddy, I'm what they call an...opportunist. Carries a lot of negative connotation but I could never imagine why. I find a stranger unconscious and helpless on the side of the road, I use that stranger as a test subject, simple as that."_ Well, you were half right. _"That's called being resourceful."_

 _"Test subject? What the hell are you gonna do to me?"_ you ask as franticness sets into your voice and you start violently squirming from underneath your restraints' iron grips. 

_"Man, you ask a lot of questions, huh? I might be a surgeon but I also dabble in chemistry. I've been fermenting the perfect medicine for a while now, but poor lil' ol' Rach hasn't had herself someone to test it out on until now. This place is a taco fest, if you know what I mean."_

You don't know what she means. _"I don't know what you mean."_

 _"Oh, aren't you just a sweet and innocent little boy,"_ Trager condescendingly compliments, pinching your cheek in the process with her cold, silky glove. _"Too many guys is a sausage fest, too many girls is a taco fest."_

_"Oh. Wait, why do you need a guy?"_

Trager mischievously giggles. _"You'll see!"_

_"And the perfect medicine? If you're trying to help people, why not do it legitimately?"_

_"Help people?! I'm not trying to help people, I'm trying to make money! That's how American health care works, buddy, this is common knowledge!"_ She scoffs and repeats _"help people..."_ under her breath as she brandishes a syringe from the cart, flicking the drippy needle dry before gingerly feeding you it. 

You cringe at the sharp prick in your neck and demand answers. _"What did you just inject me with?!"_

_"My own little Frankenstein'd together dose of sildenafil citrate, to make probably the single most potent vasodilator on the planet."_

_"Was that even English?! What the hell did you do to me?!"_

_"Well, see for yourself."_


	2. Human Experimentation

She sweeps your gown up out the way like she's making a bed to expose your flaccid penis. You feel the shot's formidable liquids surging through your bloodstream, every drop eventually settling in your crotch. It boils and stews in your genitalia, the side effect being an uncontrollable erection so fierce and unwavering it hurts like a terrible cramp. 

_"Did you pump me full of viagra?!"_ you squeal out in a cringe.

_"Steroidal viagra, yes. Get used to your new little friend, cause he's gonna be here a while. If my calculations are correct, about 12 hours, to be precise, but we'll just have to see. That's what experimenting's all about! And if that wasn't fun enough, it also makes your seminiferous tubules go into overdrive. Right now your testes brewing more semen than all sperm banks in America put together! Let's see how long it takes till the well goes dry, hm, buddy?"_

She starts a stopwatch and off the cart takes a black, small microphone-looking device, dribbling and half soaked in a limpid fluid. When she flicks it on, you immediately realize it's a heavily used vibrator.

_"I know it's unprofessional to use my own, but in a frankly shithole facility like this, we had to make some budget cuts,"_ she says after slipping the vibrator underneath her mask and quickly sucking it dry like what a mother does to clean her baby's binky.

She then smuggles the sex toy deep between your legs so it tightly hugs your taint. The vibrator's sharp tremors dig through the skin and right into your prostate, the male g-spot, making it endlessly tremble in a blaze of paradise. It blows wave after wave of ectascy to consume your entire body like a mushroom cloud. The ground zero is your rectum, but the nirvana is thrown all the way to the tips of your toes and the crown of your scalp. After only half a minute, an inhumanly large orgasm comes gushing out of your urethra like a literal firehose, soiling much of your gown and chest. Trager scribbles a tally mark down in response. 

_"And so it begins."_

Hour one.

It doesn't take long till the encounter feels like Groundhog's Day. The vibrator force-feeds your prostate a limitless sum of pleasure so your balls are emptied again and again only to be refilled right back again and again. Trager makes sure to tally every discharge and the stopwatch makes sure to document every second of your bizarre torture. 

At first, the satisfaction is undeniable, but it gets old quick. No penis in the world was ever meant to endure this many ejaculations in a row. Your entire frontal body is soon encrusted in your own dried semen, like a layer of frosting on a cake. She pulls down on your chin to keep your mouth ajar whilst another cumshot comes raining onto your face, most of it landing right in your throat. She slams your jaw shut before you're able to choke it up, forcing you to swallow trillions of your own children. 

_"Hey buddy, did you know a single teaspoon of sperm contains over 200 proteins, vitamins, and minerals? I should know. I **am** a doctor."_

You don't think she's actually a doctor.

Hour five.

The cum dripping off the table has now formed a pool, a puddle of thick, solid white. Trager begins departing the room every now and again for bathroom or snack breaks. In these times, you try twisting free. The leather straps are firm and knotted, but death by a thousand cuts might apply. Each jerk and twist loosens your restraints by a nanometer. You have an idea. While it's hard now that your dick is steroided up and mostly out of your control, you try flexing to aim it towards the restraints right before your 370th load comes firing out. You planned to use the slushy lubricant to butter up the straps and make it easier to wiggle free, but you took so long that the sperm has dried and crystallized. You've only succeeded in gluing your restraints to your wrists. Awesome. Trager returns, and is almost dragged to the ground after slipping on a puddle of semen. 

_"Whoa!"_ she exclaims, catching herself on a sink. _"Someone ought'a put a wet floor sign up in here!"_

She walks over to her clipboard, making a sickening squish with each of her steps along the way, and swipes her wrist down a few times to add more tallymarks, making an accurate guesstimate of the few cumshots she missed in her absences. 

Your legs quiver in weariness in sync with the vibrator as you feebly ask Trager _"When will this be over?"_

_"Nothing lasts forever, I'm afraid. Your family jewels will eventually give out,"_ she assures as she playfully flicks your rumbling scrotum, zapping it with a small hint of pain. _"But until then, we'll just have to kick our feet up and watch the magic happen. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do."_


	3. Test Results

Hour eight.

You've came enough to fill a swimming pool, and that's not hyperbole. You feel terrible. Exhausted. But most of all, dehydrated. The drugs have your balls produce cell after cell of sperm, forcing them to borrow fluids from the rest of your body just to garner enough fuel.

 _"Please..."_ you weakly beg Trager. _"I'm so thirsty."_

_"Oh, you poor baby. We wouldn't want you getting dehydrated, would we? That might hinder production! Open wide, big boy."_

She bends over and dangles her tits past the flaps of her lab jacket and over your face. With no other choice, you pucker your lips and slurp out about a pint's worth of milk from each of her C Cups, using her plump, inverted nipples as a couple of straws. 

_"I'd fetch an IV but truth be told, I like the tickle,"_ she giggles as you suckle from her breasts. _"It makes me feel like a mom!"_

Freshly furnished, your next orgasm is doubled in size and intensity, and splatters right up against Trager's face, drenching her hair and smearing one of her cheeks with batter. 

_"Fuck's sake, buddy, say it, don't spray it,"_ Trager grumpily mumbles as she wrings the semen out of her hair and scrubs her face clean with a wipe. _"I need me one of those nurses that dab your face..."_

Hour twelve.

At this point, you and the operation table are both caked in dry cock snot. Trager is literally ankle deep in a sloshing sea of cum filling up the whole room. Your genitals feel like they've ran a marathon. The thought of any sexual contact ever again makes you feel sick to your stomach. Your sore balls and tender penis sputter out a few more measly drops before the latter gradually shrivels back up into flaccidity. Your reproductive system, after half a day of torture, is finally free from the steroid Trager injected you with. She stops the timer and switches the vibrator off. It's surreal, not hearing that trembling drone, not feeling that sick heavenly pleasure, not squirming around discharge after discharge, not getting hailed in your own batter.

 _"Welp, all good things must come to an end, I suppose,"_ Trager concludes after she pokes your beaten penis with the end of her pen a few times. She then uses it to scribble down the test results on her clipboard. 

_"3 milliliter dosage of drug, 12 hours, 2 minutes, and 7 seconds trial time, 25, 50, 75, 100..."_ she quickly counts up the hundreds of tallies she wrote. _"723 total number of ejaculations..."_

She stops and looks around the room, scanning the half-foot thick white carpet her feet are being soaked in. _"You wouldn't happen to have a measuring cup, would you?"_ You are far from amused. _"Ah hell, I'll just estimate."_ She mentally calculates under her breath for a few seconds before writing down _"30 gallons of semen. If run-of-the-mill viagra takes half an hour to kick in and lasts for 5 hours, and my little abomination fires up in seconds and lasts for half a day...that's about 30 times more valuable...a pack of viagra's 700, mine can be 21k...thanks to the added hormone overdose I can round it up to...Hot damn, kid, I can sell just one of these syringes on the black market for 25,000 dollars! That's capitalism right there! You were one cute little guinea pig! Alrighty, well, I have all I need."_

_"So does that mean you'll let me go?!"_

_"Let you go?"_ she chuckles before violently stabbing you with another syringe and flicking the vibrator back on. 

Oh God, no... Your penis swells right back up and you can already feel your balls readying to evacuate in fear of the throbs in your prostate.

_"Enjoy another 12 hours."_

_"NO! NO, PLEASE STOP!"_ you miserably beg and scream as Trager exits the room for good, staining the stairs with four footprint-shaped spills of sperm along the way.

 _"Hope you know how to swim, buddy!"_ Trager chirps with a sly wink.

She slams the door shut to let you literally drown yourself in your own cum.  



End file.
